


You Bring me Good in my Lonely Life

by Mery_Strider_Egbert



Series: if you never shoot, you'll never know [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Bad Boy Michael, FAHC, Fire, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, angst w happy ending ~~, basically haha, good boy gavin, lots of metaphors about fire, nihilism / philosophical sort of, pre-fahc, pyromaniac michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7171256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mery_Strider_Egbert/pseuds/Mery_Strider_Egbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Jones was nothing but trouble. Rumours spread about him like a wildfire, a virus, a plague. They say everything he touches burns. </p><p>Gavin Free is the new kid, the perfect student, the golden boy. Pure.</p><p>But nothing is pure in Los Santos for long. </p><p>And maybe Gavin Free <em>wants</em> to burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Bring me Good in my Lonely Life

**Author's Note:**

> Lowkey(highkey) inspired by [this.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5394902) (I love this fic so much, I credit most of the philosophical talk to that fic honestly). A lot of talk and lines were heavily inspired and borrowed from that fic (it's all that lovely author's) but I tried my best to give it my own flair and fit this idea into pre-fahc. 
> 
> Not my views at all, I just wanted to write something like this. I hope this makes sense~ Feel free to ask me questions about what happened. Also, they're probably OOC, but I tried to make their prominent personality traits stay the same, as with other fics.

 

Gavin is the golden boy. The new foreign student slipped into their lives seamlessly; parents fawned over him, students flocked around him. Perfect student, perfect clothes, perfect looks, perfect values, perfect son, perfect charm. Perhaps, the most attractive feature in him, one of the blinding things about him, was that he was pure.

 

In a city like Los Santos, nothing is pure. 

 

He has no bite to his tongue, no malice behind his actions. Smiles were genuine, laughs weren’t forced. People crave that. 

 

He was pure, until he wasn’t. Tainted in the form of golden curls, freckles, and bursts of oranges reflecting against skin. As the old adage goes: curiosity killed the cat. 

 

-

 

Michael Jones was bad news. Dust under the rug. Never to be spoken of. Taboo. 

 

Gavin passes him by once, on the way to school. He sees smoke from a cigarette bud and a lighter in one hand. Brown eyes and freckles against the growing sunrise. The lad smiles at him and winks. 

 

That’s when it starts. 

 

People catch his stares, the one he gives fleetingly, but subconsciously. His “friends” tell him, “He’s bad news Gavin. Don’t mess with him.” 

 

His neighbors say, 

 

“Michael Jones? Don’t go loitering around with his folk. He ain’t good.”

 

His teachers say,

 

“The boy hasn’t attended a day of school since his junior year. Highschool drop-out, bad grades. Not the time to get curious, boy. Focus on upcoming exams.”

 

“He’s a lost boy. Don’t talk to him. He lies. He corrupts. He destroys.”

 

He hears rumours. 

 

“I heard he almost set the school on fire, and that’s how he got expelled.”

 

“He murdered someone using only a butter knife!”

 

“He’s always hanging around the bridge, dangling his legs over the edge.”

 

“He has this bat that he has around and beats people up with whenever they get too close.”

 

“He’s responsible for half the fucking fires in the west district alone.” 

 

“That building over there. The one that’s half burnt down. He started the fire, blew it up, then came back the next day to graffiti  _ Fuck Life _ all over it.” 

 

_ “I’m always scared to go near him. They say everything he touches burns.” _

 

Maybe Gavin wants to burn. Maybe that’s why he finds himself walking down the bridge, where he first saw Michael, and sitting in Michael’s usual spot, waiting for him. Legs dangling over the edge, breeze gently brushing against his hair.

 

When Michael finally sits next to him, it’s a contrast. He’s in ripped jeans, a leather jacket, and a loose tank top. Tattoos reflect their colors against the sun, all over his arms. His boots are scuffed. He smells of smoke and gasoline. His face smudged with dirt and ash. Eyes outlined in charcoal, glazed over, high. Messy hair and a fierce, yet lazy, gaze. 

 

Gavin’s in a collared shirt and tie, under a sweater vest. Standard black slacks, leather loafers. Hair slicked back, arms bare. He smells of vanilla and flowers. Not a thing out of place,  _ perfect student, perfect looks. _ His gaze is worried, nervous, and maybe a little afraid. 

 

Michael doesn’t say hello.

 

Instead, he takes out a cigarette, lights it with his lighter, and brings it to his lips. He breathes out and pushes it towards Gavin’s slack jaw. 

 

“Michael Jones.” 

 

Gavin’s never smoked a thing in his entire seventeen years of living. He doesn’t plan on it. But he finds himself taking the bud from Michael’s hands. He holds his gaze as he takes his first drag. Michael smiles and winks. 

 

Gavin coughs. Almost enough to throw himself over the bridge if not for the hand that steadies him. He looks back at the freckled face and finds it cracking up with laughter. He takes the cigarette back when he offers. 

 

“Gavin Free.”

-

 

Their one encounter becomes many, but only ever after two o’clock and once the final bell rings from Gavin’s high school.

 

Sometimes Gavin finds him on the bridge, other times at the abandoned skate park, other times at the store, other times laying on the floor with an unlit cigarette in his mouth and the lighter he always flips open to stare at.

 

One time Gavin finds him on the street, laying down, hands behind his neck, staring at the sky. A car is fast approaching. He makes no move to get out of the way. The engine gets louder and the car nears faster with no sign of stopping, but he lays motionless on the street, as if asleep. 

 

When Gavin calls his name, that’s when he finally jerks into action. Gavin runs to drag him off the road, and he numbly follows, narrowly avoiding the honking car. It’s the first time he’s seen Michael so speechless and surprised. Even more so when Gavin slams him against the wall and clutches at the collars of his leather jacket.

 

“What were you doing, you pleb? You could have died!” 

 

Within seconds, Michael’s demeanor becomes cool and collected like Gavin is used to. He doesn’t know if this unsettles him or not, but anxiety, adrenaline, and anger still course through his veins with every beat of his heart. 

 

He shrugs Gavin off, but not roughly. His touch is gentle as he turns away to walk further down the alley. His voice is soft as he says, “I’ve done this before.” 

 

As if that explained everything. 

 

When Michael looks at Gavin again, he’s still frozen staring at his hands and where he held Michael against the wall. As they lock eyes, Gavin sees the tired look in his eyes, a look he’s never seen before, and he’s sure he’s the only one Michael’s ever allowed to see. They scream at him to  _ drop it _ . 

 

His anger dissipates and pours down the drain. So when Michael gives a saccharine smile, and asks him if he wants to check out the arcade down the street, he just nods and smiles along with him. 

 

Michael called himself a nihilist when they first met on the bridge. Gavin’s starting to see with startling technicolor vision, why he does. 

 

-

 

Out of all the places they’ve been to, the bridge is always Gavin’s favorite. 

 

One day, pleasantly relaxed from a cigarette, Gavin asks, “Why don’t you ever go to school?” 

 

“The better question is, why are you going to school?”

 

“Because I want good grades. I want to go to college. I want a future,” Gavin says immediately, gazing at the sunset in front of him, hazy lines marking airplanes and pollution ruining the picturesque view.  _ There he is again, perfect student, perfect values, perfect son,  _ Michael thinks. Gavin turns to Michael. “Don’t you?”

 

Michael just smiles, amused, gaze travelling back out into the ocean beneath them.

 

Gavin leans back against a post of the bridge, taking in the sirens going off in the distance, the cars whizzing past him, the birds circling around in the sky. 

 

He watches the sun touch Michael’s skin, counts the freckles on his face, and he realizes he’s close enough to count his eyelashes. Michael’s gaze is unfocused, as if he’s in deep thought. His mouth naturally forms a small frown, slightly open. The eyeliner accents his eyes and makes Gavin want to see him without it. Every so often he would take out his lighter and just watch the flames dance in the wind. 

 

He wishes he had a camera. Michael’s profile looks ethereal against the blinding light behind him. 

 

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Michael mumbles. He focuses his gaze upon Gavin again. 

 

“I was thinking about it,” Gavin admits, face hot, and he flicks his eyes downward to stare at his hands. He feels like he’s burning.

 

Michael’s hand reaches up to caress his cheek, and he gently lifts Gavin’s face to meet his eyes again. “Did you, now?” 

 

Gavin nods, and it’s silent for a few moments. Gavin holds his gaze. His expression is unclear, and Gavin tries his best to remain neutral under the intensity and closeness. 

 

Between shared breaths, Michael asks, “Why don’t you skip school tomorrow?”

 

“I can’t.” Gavin pulls away, eyebrows furrowed. 

 

Michael sighs irritably, tension of the moment alleviating. “Why don’t you?”

 

“I’ve never missed a day of school in my life and I-”

 

Michael chuckles. He reaches for Gavin’s hand, between them and holds it. Gavin stops talking. “I want to show you something.”

 

They let the words hang in the air. Gavin stares at their clasped hands, while Michael looks at his face. He turns his palm over to intertwine their fingers. Gavin is weak, oh so weak. He sighs. “We’ll see.” 

 

-

 

The first time Gavin watches fire burn so close is the next day. He shows up early, the sun barely rising above the horizon, by the bridge, holding a backpack and looking cheery. Michael thinks his expression is brighter than any flame he’s ever seen. 

 

Michael had always smelled like gasoline and smoke. Now he knows why.

 

Their first hit is an abandoned building on the other side of town. Gavin watches as he pours gasoline inside. He knew what they were doing the second he saw the gas in the back of his truck. Curiosity keeps him in his place, following every step along the way. 

 

He watches the trail of fire burn into the building. Michael takes him across the street as they watch the slow spread of flames. He smells the acrid air and feels the heat before he sees it. Once it spreads, it only spreads faster. Smoke starts to seep into the already polluted air, meshing the blue hues with dark grays. Once the sirens start to sound, Michael guides him farther away, but still watching. 

 

They go for another one, later in the day, oranges and dark purples paint the sky against the setting sun. Michael says he normally doesn’t start fires more than once a day, but today is a special occasion. Michael smiles and so does Gavin.

 

“What do you think?” He asks once the sun is set, and the fumes are high. This one can be seen more up close, flames lighting up the darkness around them. He’s staring at the orange and yellows like he worships them. His smile, content and warm.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Gavin whispers, staring not at the flames, but at Michael’s face as the fire dances in his eyes. “Beautiful.”

 

-

 

By the time it’s winter, they call Michael corruption. Gavin is the corrupted. They say Michael’s words of life are nothing more than lies, but Gavin keeps coming back everyday for more. 

 

Before the first day of fire, they exchanged little of talk despite the weeks they spent in each other’s company. 

 

(Gavin had learned that he did indeed have a bat, but he’d never beaten people up with it. He laughed at the idea of killing people, but Gavin isn’t sure if he was joking or not with that strange reaction. He learns Michael laughs a lot of things off. The fires were all his. So were the burned down buildings with graffiti scattered around the remains. Gavin didn’t ask him if he burned everything he touched.) 

 

They ranged topics from video games to the newest blockbuster movies to Gavin’s weird inventions to hypotheticals Gavin loves to make up daily, but it was nothing more than idle chatter. 

 

After the first day of fire, the topics came to broach meanings of life, the meaning of free will, the endless sea of stars, the infinite universe. Gavin could say he was really learning what he meant by nihilism, now. 

 

He is as eager as he had been the first day they met, curious and willing to listen to Michael’s nonsensical rants and unrestrained language. They get lost in a world of unanswered philosophies and a universe that doesn’t matter. Words that mean nothing spoken between them, words that mean everything if they wanted it to. Just two insignificant bodies in a blip in the entire timeline of life as they knew it. Sometimes he talks, sometimes he listens. Sometimes he watches things burn, sometimes he burns. 

 

They joke often, each wanting to hear the pleasant rings of laughter, but times like now, they like to get deeper in their void of philosophical nonsense that Michael likes to call enlightenment.

 

“Why are you still so unhappy?” Gavin asks. They’re laying in an open field, on the outskirts of town. If he squints, he can try to actually picture stars up there instead of the blankness that the city helped produce. He reaches up a hand to grasp at the satellites making their rounds across the Earth, pretending to squish them between his thumb and finger. “Isn’t it liberating? Shouldn’t you be free, Michael?”

 

“I have a past, and I’m alone,” Michael says. He closes left eye and brings his right hand to his face, cupped in a circle, pretending to have a telescope. “Loneliness and isolation are the worst things humans can go through. Even when nothing really matters in this fucked up world.” 

 

Gavin frowns, not convinced. 

 

“No, that can’t be it,” Gavin rolls over onto his stomach and the movement makes Michael’s gaze shifts over to him. He’s holding onto a creeper necklace, one from that video game they both like. It was one drunk night, not that long ago. “You have me.” Michael shrugs. It’s true. Michael’s hands briefly touch his matching diamond necklace. Gavin thinks for a moment, then his face lights up like he’s had the biggest epiphany. And he thinks, maybe he does. “You… you want meaning don’t you? Even when you think there is none?” 

 

“We all do. We’re human, aren’t we?” Michael answers. 

 

Gavin smiles as if he’s won first place, and Michael just rolls his eyes at the silly reaction. 

 

“Hey, Michael?” 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What do you dream about? What do you want in life?  _ Do  _ you have dreams? Do you  _ want _ anything in life?” 

 

“I dream of fire and passion. Ignorance and anarchy. I have none, and I want it. I want to feel alive.”  

 

Gavin grins at Michael. “Is that why you burn things? To quench your need for fire because you’re burning out?”

 

Michael hums in agreement. “Maybe. It’s not the same type of fire I want though.” 

 

Gavin’s staring at Michael again, but this time it’s different. 

 

“I know that look. What’s your  _ bloody _ brilliant idea now, idiot?” Michael starts to sit up and stretch. 

 

“I think I can save you,” Gavin answers. “I want to save you.”

 

“Save me?” Michael scoffs, but nothing can stop Gavin when there are stars in his eyes and a big shiteating smile on his face. “What, fix me up like one of your inventions? Or hack into my personal hard drive in my brain like you do with computers?”

 

“If you want to think about it like that, then yeah,” Gavin says with finality. “Will you let me?”

 

Michael sighs again and laughs. He’s not sure what he means, but he still says, “Yeah, maybe.”

 

They watch the field burn that night. Like always, Michael stares at the fire, and Gavin stares at Michael, tracing the slope of his nose, the chapped lips, and the soft curls of messy hair. He’s looking at a puzzle, an enigma, and he’s trying his best to find the pieces that fit. 

 

-

 

Saving him comes in the form of burning. But it’s not the type that’s created with gasoline. It comes in the burning of his lungs, the beating of his heart, the thrill in his veins, and the clank of empty spray bottles as they run, and  _ run, and run _ . When they’re finally out of view from the cops, safe in an alley near their little home, Michael glances at the golden boy between pants and notices a contrast. 

 

Instead of a pristine, collared shirt, it’s ripped and tattered, stained with charcoal and ash. Gone were the expensive leather loafers and what replaced them were beat up sneakers and Halo socks. Well-worn jeans, patched up hastily with mismatched cloth, were in place of sleek black slacks. His combed back hair became messy and defied gravity. Nails were stained in remnants of spray. There was fire in his eyes. 

 

As soon as he catches his breath, Michael half-heartedly grabs at Gavin’s arm and asks, “Where did that come from? I thought you were a good kid?” 

 

“What? I have a past, too, y’know,” Gavin echoes him. He slows down as they reach a familiar railroad right beside Michael’s apartment. They’re walking side by side now, still breathing heavily from the chase. “Did you think I was a golden boy before I moved here? I admit, there weren’t many nights like this –my friend Dan used to take me.  I’ve never forgotten them. And I...I missed this.” 

 

“You’re really something, aren’t you?” Michael says as he shoves Gavin to the wall next to them. He wheezes in the slight pain, but he laughs it away when he sees Michael’s intense gaze and the walls he makes around him with his arms. “Is this your idea of saving me?”

 

“Maybe.” Gavin stares back with equal intensity and he’s reminded of a night long ago – actually, countless nights in his faded memories. Their faces are close enough to where he can count Michael’s eyelashes. They share the same breath of toxic air. “Is this the fire? Do you feel  _ alive, _ Michael? Do you?” 

 

“You call this fire? It ain’t even close.” Michael smiles sweetly, and Gavin grips his jacket to bring him closer. 

 

He ghosts his lips against Michael’s and his eyes droop down to look at the other’s lips. “Then this,” he pulls away and brings his hooded eyes up to look at Michael’s, “must be fire, right?” 

 

Michael teases him back, lips barely touching when he breathes out, “You’re good with computers, but not with fire. Whoever taught you how to make a flame, taught you wrong. That’s not how you burn, boi.” 

 

Michael almost expects Gavin to taste like fire, to burn. But no, what he gets is unexpected, raw. He tastes like rain on a cloudy day, water as he drowns in it. It’s the calm of the breeze, the soft sighs a lover, ice cream on a hot day, the sweetest fruit he’s ever tasted. He’s passion, youth, lust, _ pure. _

 

He tastes like redemption. And maybe he tastes like home. 

 

Whatever it is, Michael craves it. Like everyone else, he craves the purity, the flawlessness. 

 

“Is this…?” Gavin says between breaths of air. 

 

“Maybe.” Michael mumbles into his neck as he sucks and pulls. 

 

He leads them back to the apartment, staggering, as if punch drunk. He lets his hands slip into Gavin’s, who follows with naive sighs and giggles. He’s pure and Michael wants nothing more than to corrupt that light and make it black. There’s also that want somewhere deep inside him that wants to keep it there, white and gray, just for himself. 

 

“We don’t matter, you know?” 

 

Gavin squeezes his hand tighter, “But we try so hard, isn’t that beautiful?” 

 

With a click of the door, they’re inside the apartment. “I still don’t understand you. You don’t have to save me. You didn’t have to stay.”

 

“I want to.”

 

His lips are on the other’s again and they crash as he says, “Save me, then.”

 

-

 

Spring comes with light rainfalls and beautiful flowers. Gavin and Michael lay between sticky sheets and ashen clothes. Michael is always the one to wake up first, never sleeping for long. The sunlight does wonders on Gavin’s face. Michael can’t help but stare. 

 

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Gavin mumbles when he finally opens his eyes. 

 

“I was thinking about it,” Michael says, lowering himself down for another kiss. 

 

Gavin tastes like dewdrops and Chinese takeout. It’s a little addicting. 

 

They spend days like this, touching and moving in gratifying ways, and other days they go out and burn. Both literally and figuratively. 

 

“Have I ever told you that you’re gorgeous?” Gavin says to him one day, on the rare occasion he wakes up before Michael does. “So pretty, like this.”

 

Michael smiles underneath his lips and sighs. “Hey, Gav.”

 

Gavin hums in reply, resting his head on Michael’s chest. 

 

“We should fall in love.”

 

Gavin hesitates, unsure as he locks his green eyes with brown. “You… you make it sound like it’s easy.”

 

Michael pulls him in tighter. “Isn’t it?” 

 

-

 

All his life, Michael’s been looking for something to burn. As a child he learned to build his first fire, almost making his camping ground go down in flames. His teen years passed with cigarette buds, the hot grip of a bat, and fury. Adulthood starts with burning buildings, smoke, and passion.

 

Michael has been addicted to many things. But he always craves more. Always moving on, trying to find something stronger. Trying to find just the right fire, just the right burn to make meaning for his life. 

 

And like all of his addictions, like his cigarettes, like his fires, he keeps Gavin close to him, taking what he needs before throwing him back, when he moves on to the next source. Despite the constant cycle of taking and never giving, like a boomerang, Gavin always comes back. 

 

Alcohol, his newest target, makes him feel a different type of fire. The more he drinks, the longer it lasts, the more numbing it feels. 

 

In its early stages, Gavin went out with him, but someone had to be the one to give them water, and tylenol, and make sure they didn’t puke on the side of the bed. From then on, Gavin grew to hate the smell of liquor.

 

In the mornings, with his pounding headache threatening to split his skull, Gavin made it better with hot chocolate and scrambled eggs. 

 

“Have you found your fire yet, boi?” Gavin asks casually. He puts the plate in front of him and starts to sip on his coffee. 

 

“Maybe,” Michael says through the headache. Gavin starts to massage his temples, his lips in a thin line. When he sees Michael looking, Gavin puts on a saccharine smile, a look Michael’s not used to seeing. It comes more often these days, and it’s unsettling. Whenever he closes his eyes or turns away or whenever Gavin thinks he’s not looking, Gavin drops the smile and wears a small pout. 

 

Michael’s not sure what he’s feeling when he sees this, but it’s gives him a strange bubbling unease in his stomach, and he can’t shake it off.

 

-

 

“What do you think about love?” They’re lying in bed. The weather’s been humid, and the fan ends up blasting in their direction a few feet away. They’re cuddling, face to face, inklings of tiredness emerging from their faces.

 

“It’s something people create,” Michael says. “Something happy.” He gives Gavin a chaste kiss. “Something like us.”

 

Gavin keeps their foreheads touching as he searches Michael’s eyes. “Would you really call what we created love?” 

 

Michael doesn’t answer. Instead he cups Gavin’s face in his hand, feeling the growing stubble. “What would you call it then?” 

 

“Isn’t this more of an… obsession?” Gavin replies. Michael furrows his eyebrows, shocked and amused. 

 

“And what would we be obsessing over?” He traces his thumb across Gavin’s cheek. 

 

“Well, you’re obsessed with fire, with meaning,” Gavin says, closing his eyes as Michael’s thumb ghosts over them.  _ You worship flames like they’re the God you don’t believe in. You want meaning when you don’t think there is any.  _ Michael’s thumb starts tracing his lower lip when he says, “And… I’m obsessed with you.” 

 

They hit something smaller that night, just on the outskirts of town. That night there is a contrast. Gavin starts this one, he insists. Michael watches him flick the match into the gasoline and watch his eyes follow the trail. His gaze traces the growing beard, the crooked nose, the curve of his brow. Even if the fire turned into a startling hot blue, Michael wouldn’t take his eyes away from the sight before him. Gavin was the still the brightest flame he’d ever seen. Gavin keeps his eyes on the fire, like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, then an expression that he can’t quite name erupts into his face. It looks a little sad, a little hopeless. 

 

Michael’s left staring at Gavin, while Gavin stares at orange hues.

 

-

 

The thing is, he’s really good at destroying things. It’s all he’s ever done, it’s all he ever will do. Like King Midas, whose touch turned everything into gold, Michael’s touch turns everything to ash. 

 

Between the morning kisses, the late night talks, the hand holding, the running, the fires, the burn, loving Gavin was easy. 

 

He’s touched Gavin so many times, in so many ways, he doesn’t know how many more times he can until he’s nothing but ash. He doesn’t know if he should be happy that he made Gavin’s white turn into black, or confused because he still feels uneasy whenever Gavin gets that faraway look in his eyes that he’d never had before. 

 

Gavin’s the first one that’s never tasted like ash, even with the remnants of gasoline and smoke in his clothes. 

 

Maybe that’s why he keeps going on to the next new thing. Not because that’s just how life works, but because he’s never had someone like Gavin before – someone who isn’t just fire, someone who tastes like sunrises and sunsets and space and science. 

 

“Do you think we’ll go anywhere after we die?” 

 

“No. It’s not like I believe in Gods, or the afterlife.”

 

“What? No ghosts, no spirits haunting us, no grim reapers and angels?” 

 

“No.”

 

“We just die one day, and our soul dies along with us, then?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“How unromantic.”

 

Gavin pauses to give a small, dramatic, groan. Michael scoffs.

 

“Well, what about death?”

 

“We live our whole lives to achieve it. It’s like some prize at the end of the tunnel. It can come quick, or it can come slowly and softly.” 

 

“Isn’t that a little pessimistic?”

 

“Call it what you want. It’s what I think.”

 

“What about legacies –history? Have you ever wanted to leave your mark, burn a hole in the timeline?” 

 

“I don’t think it’s worth the effort. Give it a hundred years and no one alive will remember us. Give it five hundred years and no one know or give a fuck about Christopher Columbus or the first president of the United States. It doesn’t mean anything.” 

  
  
  


“Aren’t you afraid to die?”

 

“No, I don’t think I am.” 

 

-

 

It’s late summer, and it’s the first rainfall since April. 

 

Michael isn’t home. It’s half past four in the morning. Gavin is worried. 

 

It’s been like this for what seems like weeks, months even. The drinking had only gotten worse, and Gavin was too blind, too gullible, too  _ trusting _ , to see it happening before it was too late. Alcohol consumes Michael during the summer, tastes like the ash that he’s so used to. The nights have been getting longer, more frequent. The fires have dwindled. The late talks have died down. 

 

It’s worse when Michael drinks at home. Gavin leaves the room whenever he does. Sometimes Michael makes him stay because something about the way Gavin’s face cracks, like it did staring at the fire not that long ago, or when he thinks Michael isn’t looking, something about that sends a jolt in Michael’s system. He craves seeing the cracks in Gavin’s porcelain, the black he imbued in him, even if it hurts him, too. Call him a sadist, a masochist. He won’t deny it. 

 

The thing about adrenaline and youthful lust is that it burns out quick. It was only a matter of time before their flame had finally simmered out. And it did.

 

But things like that don’t just end. Feelings never just go away. Memories aren’t just forgotten. 

 

Maybe that’s why they keep coming back. Call it infatuation, call it obsession, call it love.

 

It’s what gets Gavin out of the dingy apartment building and in the rain, holding an umbrella tightly above him, scarf loose around his neck. His thinks of the place Michael would be. He runs faster when he sees the amount of rain and how easily one could slip if they weren’t careful. 

 

Michael has done plenty of dumb, idiotic things since Gavin’s met him. Close calls with the police, fires and explosions he couldn’t control, and recently, unnecessary drunken fights in pubs He’s almost died too many times to tell. But this might just take the fucking cake. 

 

Gavin reaches the bridge in time to see Michael hanging out on the edge, one arm loosely holding the bridge, soaked to the bone. Michael looks one second away from letting go, before Gavin shouts his name. He drops his umbrella as soon as he sees Michael. He almost flings himself off the bridge himself, running to grab Michael before he slips. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing Michael!” He shouts, voice hoarse from the running and exhaustive day.  _ “You could die!” _

 

“I’m enjoying the rain by the bridge! What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?  _ I’ve done this before! _ ” Michael slurs out, swatting Gavin’s prying fingers off of him. “I love seeing the rain hit the ocean, darling. Come join me! I wanna swim in it!” 

 

“No! Get off, boi! Come on, before you slip.” Gavin tugs Michael’s arm again, and surprisingly he lets Gavin tug him hard enough. They’re both on the concrete floor, wet with rain. 

 

“What wuh-was that for Gavvers?” Michael says harshly, weakly pushing off of him. “Why’re you taking me off? Don’t you want to go swim, too?”

 

“Another time, boi,” Gavin says, trying to be as calm as possible. His heart was beating out of his chest. And the rain hadn’t washed away the stench of alcohol. Another glimpse at him and Gavin could tell someone had slipped him something in his drink. “Come on.”

 

Michael ignores his pleas and tries to go back towards the bridge, but Gavin keeps him in place. He pries away more forcefully, but Gavin keeps his grip tight. 

 

“Let go! Gavin!” A game of tug and pull erupt between the two, neither’s grip faltering even for a second. In the pouring rain, Gavin can barely make out his own tears blurring his vision. Michael seems to get stronger with each pull. “What the fuck, wh-why won’t you let me go?” Michael screams, frustrated. He starts swinging side to side, trying to get Gavin off by force, but Gavin clings like a leech. “Come on, baby! I thought you wanted to save me! This is it! Let’s burn together! Just let me go and we can – ”

 

With one hard shake, perhaps underestimating his own strength, Michael flings Gavin off of him and into the bars of the bridge. There’s a loud crash. Michael’s in shock when he sees red. He drops to his knees. 

 

Gavin’s head hurts like a bitch. He can barely bring himself to stand. When did everything start to hurt when he moved? There’s an ache on his shoulder, and his head pounds uncomfortably against his skull. He brings his hands into his vision and widens his eyes at the sight of blood blending in with the rain. He sees Michael hovering over him, Michael’s eyes darting over his face, his body, hands reaching to cup his face. 

 

“Fu-fuck, Michael. S-stop. I-it hurts.”

 

“I-I-I’m so-”

 

Gavin cuts him off before he can say anything else. Weak as he is, he doesn’t know how he mustered the energy to even think. Everything hurts. He doesn’t want apologies, or arguments or fights. He just wants –

 

“Michael,” he starts, voice soft. Michael stops his blubbering. “L-let’s go home.” 

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Fuck, I-I’m sorry.” Gavin’s warnings don’t stop Michael’s cries. He just brings Gavin’s body closer to him, as he hugs him tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you. So fucking much. I’m sorry.”

 

“L-let’s just go h-home Michael. W-we’re gonna get s-sick. I-I want to guh-go home.”

 

Gavin can’t bring himself to move, and Michael’s busy sobbing into his jacket, rain not stopping for their predicament. He knows he has to either take him to the hospital or leave him to die with his injuries. He doesn’t stop crying for another few minutes, and that’s when he realizes Gavin passed out. He scrambles for his phone, thumb hovering over his contact list hesitantly. He glances at Gavin one more time, before he dials. 

 

It’s five rings before he picks up.

 

“Michael?”

 

“H-hey, Geoff.”

 

-

 

They stay there for five minutes before Geoff picks them up. Just teenagers, barely adults, on a bridge, in a world where nothing matters. One hurt and unconscious, another guilty, half-sober, with puffy eyes. Both soaked in rain. But nothing really matters, so this shouldn’t either. 

 

-

 

“You should stop this. Whatever this is.”

 

“What the drinking? The cigarettes? The fires? I’ve already told you, you can’t stop me.”

 

“No, I’m talking about you and lover boy over here.”

 

“But-”

 

“Don’t you see what’s happening? Don’t you see what you’re doing to him?”

 

“And what the fuck am I doing exactly?”

 

“Look at him! He could’ve died if I wasn’t here! If there wasn’t a railing to stop him from falling! You’re destroying him, you fucker!” 

 

“What if-!”

 

“What if what?”

 

“What if that’s exactly what I want to be doing, huh?”

 

“... Jesus Christ, kid.”

 

“...I told you, Geoff, you can’t stop me... No one can stop me.”

 

_ Not even myself.  _

 

-

 

If the incident had taught Michael anything, he ignores it in favor of drowning himself in even more alcohol to make everything numb. Maybe it taught him how much Gavin really meant to him. And maybe that’s why he keeps running away from it.

 

Every time he sees the bandage around Gavin’s head, there goes another bottle. When it’s a scar, permanently embedded onto Gavin’s skin, there goes another five.

 

Before Michael knows it, he’s doing what he does best. Just as Geoff had said, he destroys.

 

Michael comes in late, four hours past midnight, drenched, barely walking in his drunken state. All he wants to do now is find Gavin, lay in their bed, and rest his aching bones and bruises. 

 

He finds Gavin first from the light still on in the kitchen, but it’s not with the normal tired, but smily visage. He’s staring blankly at an empty glass in front of him, sitting down at their breakfast table. 

 

“How come you’re so late, love?” His voice is gentle, with an eerie calm. Michael shivers. 

 

“I dunno if you’ve been outside Gavvers, buh-but it’s pouring like fuh-fucking c-crazy out there. A-and it reminded me of that night. So I-I thought I’d go out to drink more. Some motherfuckers duh-decided it was fun to mess with drunk Michael and I guess th-they were wrong.” Michael laughs and hiccups like a lunatic in his drenched clothes; Gavin’s shaking hands tip over the glass.

 

He flinches and whispers “sorry”s and “stay still”s. And Michael can’t really stay up straight for more than two seconds. Before he trips face-first into the glass, Gavin leads him to the bedroom, and decides to clean the mess up in the morning. 

 

When he’s changed and taken a hot shower, Gavin tucks him in bed and sits next to him for a few moments just staring at his bruised face before he sighs and goes under the covers next to him. 

 

He looks peaceful in his sleep, the only time he ever has. The moonlight illuminates his face just as beautifully as the sun does. The ugly wounds on his face don’t deter his handsomeness. They serve as a grim reminder, instead. Gavin brings a hand to cup his face and bites his bottom lip unconsciously. 

 

“Why are you like this?” 

 

-

 

The past few months had built up a growing tension. Gavin knew they were a ticking time bomb that he set off the day they first met. He just didn’t know which one of them would break first and explode in their faces. This love, whatever this monstrosity they created was, was always going to end in destruction. 

 

It was a Monday. Geoff had come in to remind them to eat – he’d done that ever since the bridge – but failed to stock them with any food. Thus, Gavin went out for groceries. When he comes back, taking the few steps up the staircase, the pungent smell of gasoline fills his nostrils. He drops the plastic bags and runs. 

 

He fumbles with the keys, cursing with every miss. He bursts inside, almost slipping on the gasoline poured in the living room. He heads straight into the bedroom where Michael sits on the bed. Michael is staring blankly at the lighter in his hand, beer bottles empty on the bed.

 

Gavin’s heavy pants fill the silence of the apartment.

 

“Hey, Michael.” The familiar words tumble out of Gavin’s lips like a script. He stands in the doorway, frozen in place, watching the flames open and close at Michael’s flick. His mind draws a blank and he says the first thing that comes to mind. “Why do you still burn things?”

 

“You know why, Gavin.”

 

“But, I…” Gavin falters. He asks another question, instead. “Why do you drink all the time?”

 

“It tastes like fire, baby.” Michael grabs a beer bottle and puts it right next to his lighter. He still hasn’t looked at Gavin. 

 

“Then is it that the fire, boi?”

 

Michael lets out a dry laugh. Then he starts to cackle as if what Gavin said was the worst joke he’s heard in all of his nineteen years of living. “Not even close, Gav.”

 

It’s silent for a few moments, minutes, aside from the rain drops hitting the windowsill and occasional sounds from the bustling street outside their apartment.

 

“M-Michael.” Michael finally looks over to see him clenching his fists tightly. He’s shaking. “Give me the lighter.”

 

Michael turns back to stare at the wall, bottle and lighter still in hand. He smiles at nothing. He flicks the lighter on, the flames dangerously close to the gasoline. 

 

“G-give me the lighter, boi.”

 

He drops it.

 

“Fuck!” Gavin dives for it, catching it just before it hits the floor. 

 

Gavin lies there for a few moments, lighter cradled close to his chest. His heart feels like it’s about to burst. He closes his eyes. He misses Michael’s wide eyes of shock, as if he’d realized the implications of his actions seconds after he’d done it. As if his life flashed before his eyes.

 

Once Gavin’s breaths have calmed down, he begins to sit himself up in front of Michael. He sees a blank stare on Michael’s face. He frowns.

 

“It’s been months, Michael. And I still don’t understand you.”

 

Michael scoffs lifelessly. “What do you mean?”

 

“I-I’m just,” Gavin says, struggling to find the right words. He brings his hand to grip his creeper necklace. “You say you want fire, and I give you fire... I’ve given you lust, I’ve given you love, I’ve given you  _ everything. _ And yet, you still do shit like this.”

 

He gestures at the entire ruined apartment and the spilled gasoline.

 

“Gavvy, don’t you get it? I’ve always been like this. And I was always going to break you, baby.” He drops his bottle as he laughs, spilling the leftover alcohol and shattering the glass into a myriad of pieces. “You’re my gold, babe. I wanted to turn you black. Like all the fires you’ve helped me make, you stayed long enough to burn with me.”

 

“Stop laughing. Please,” Gavin says in annoyance, taking his eyes off of the glass to look at Michael. He brings a hand to rake through his hair. “Just… am I not enough for you?”

 

“Maybe,” Michael says with a small shrug.  _ Maybe you were too much. _ It takes everything in Michael to not voice those thoughts. Gavin’s facade falters.

 

Michael’s sitting there, lackadaisically, with a wide, twisted smile. Gavin wants wipe the smirk right off of his face. 

 

Something in Gavin snaps.

 

“You selfish, fucking asshole,” Gavin says softly, so quiet Michael strains to hear it. Gavin shifts on to move closer towards him, on his knees. 

 

Michael’s expression grows confused. Then a second later, his expression hardens. “What?” 

 

“You selfish, fucking asshole,” Gavin repeats. This time he reaches to pull at Michael’s collars, bringing him closer in frustration. “All I wanted to do was save you! All I wanted to do was fucking save you!”

 

“Well, guess what?” Michael sneers. He stands up, brushing off Gavin’s hands and faces him. He’s smiling. “You haven’t. I’m a selfish fucking asshole, and I always want more. You’ve given me fire, you’ve given me lust, you’ve given me love, but guess what darling? Now I want pain.”

 

Gavin stares at him, drinking in the words in his fierce gaze. He thinks back to the first day they met, the brown eyes still as fearsome as ever. Freckles still as prominent. Eyes still lined with charcoal. He thinks back to the rumours he’d heard before that. 

 

_ “He lies. He corrupts. He destroys.” _

 

_ “They say everything he touches burns.” _

 

“I want you,” Michael says after another moment of staring at each other’s eyes, “to break me, like I broke you.”

 

Michael doesn’t know who hit first, but he knows they both hit back and there’s blood from his split lip and some from his nose and his eye hurts and he knows he’s going to get a black eye. 

 

“Is this what you wanted?” Gavin asks between pants. He’s thrown Michael to the side of the room. He stands slightly hunched over his stomach. He brings out the lighter, threatening to light it and drop it. Just like Michael did, minutes before. “Do you feel alive now?”

 

“Yes,” Michael breathes out. He crashes their lips together and the way Gavin surges forward with an aching desperation makes the pain all the more satisfying. Gavin’s grip on the lighter loosens, but he doesn’t let go. They move wretchedly, pulling at hair, scraping backs with sharp nails, biting down hard, enough to reopen wounds and make new ones. Gavin’s the brightest flame Michael’s ever seen, and he’s also the freshest rain he’s ever had the pleasure to taste and feel against his skin. Even with the taste of blood on his lips, he still doesn’t taste like ash. 

 

Gavin breaks away first, eyes stinging with tears Michael hadn’t noticed. He brings their foreheads together and looks at Michael in front of him. He brings his hands up to trace the bruises on Michael’s face and wipe the blood from his lips. There’s a resolve in Gavin’s eyes, as if he’s made up his mind on something. He grips the lighter in his other hand tightly. He sighs and pulls away, taking a step back from Michael, keeping a hand holding his arm. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t save you, boi,” He takes Michael’s hand and brings it to his lips to press a soft kiss to them. He says again, “I really am sorry. I…” 

 

He chokes on the last two words and leaves them unspoken. 

 

When he walks towards the door, he steps on the crunched glass of the beer bottle. He grabs his coat and scarf, pulling them on before grabbing the umbrella at the door. As if on second thought, he takes off his creeper necklace and leaves it on their bedside table. 

 

He’s halfway out of the door when Michael snaps out of his daze. “You have nowhere to go, Gav.”

 

The door clicks behind him. 

 

He always comes back, Michael tells himself. Always. 

 

He doesn’t.

 

-

 

It’s been weeks, months, and Michael hadn’t heard a word from him, or seen him. 

 

He doesn’t know why he feels so empty. 

 

He stares at the creeper necklace almost everyday. Sometimes he throws it across the room, along with his matching one. But they always find their way back to him before he falls asleep. He hasn’t washed the sheets, or changed from one of Gavin’s old hoodies he’s wearing. He doesn’t know why.

 

He does know that nothing really mattered in his life, but there was always Michael and Gavin. It always smelled like fire and flowers. And now there were no flowers. Now there was no Gavin. 

 

-

 

Michael finds himself walking down a familiar road, on a bridge, the ocean underneath his feet. It’s cold, winter settling in nicely. A breeze comes by and makes him shiver. He wraps his hands around himself and leans his head against the pillar next to him. Staring at the coming sunrise, he closes his eyes. 

 

He hadn’t slept much the previous night. He hadn’t been sleeping well for months. But last night he decided to go for a walk. His feet happened to lead him here. He hears shuffling beside him. He’s too tired to open his eyes. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he thinks he smells the familiar scent of vanilla and flowers. 

 

“Haven’t seen you in a while, boi,” Michael says, on impulse. 

 

He’s surprised when a voice responds, “How’d you know it was me.”

 

Michael opens his eyes in astonishment. He stares at the other  for minutes before he responds. Gavin’s looking down at the ocean, watching the light hit the waves. Michael sighs, but never looks away from the lad in front of him. “It smelled like vanilla and flowers. And no one ever comes here. No one but you.” 

 

Gavin stays silent, and Michael keeps studying him. He looks way better than before. Unlike Michael, who looks like shit. His hair is still messy, but it looks soft and washed. The light plays with it in dazzling ways. He’s shaved and gotten sunglasses. His eyes are still that lovely shade of undecipherable blue-green. His skin had tanned. He’s gone back to wearing pristine button ups, but in its own ways, it's different. There’s a small pout on his face and slight bags under his eyes, but that doesn’t deter his beauty. Michael almost smiles because… Gavin looks healthier, happier. A little like the golden boy that he was, a little like the blackened lad he had been turned into, a little like someone new.

 

“Take a picture. It lasts longer,” Gavin says, slowly looking at him.

 

“I was thinking about it,” Michael automatically responds. 

 

Gavin ghosts a small smile. His eyes go over Michael, much like he had done to Gavin. 

 

“Where have you been?” 

 

Gavin looks to the side for a moment before he looks at Michael to answer. “I’ve been with Geoff.” 

 

_ Of course _ , Michael thinks. It made sense. He curses at the bastard for never mentioning him whenever he went over to check if he was still alive. He guesses it was meant to protect him. Them. Both of them. 

 

“What brings you here?” Michael asks. 

 

Gavin doesn’t answer for a moment. His gaze is on the diamond necklace on Michael’s neck. Before Michael can comment, Gavin answers, “I guess… to make sure you were alive.” 

 

Michael scoffs. He unconsciously grips the necklace in his hand. “It’s been seven months, darling. You only think to come by to check if I’m alive,  _ now?” _

 

Gavin rolls his eyes. “Well, if you don’t want me here I can just-”

 

“Wait!” Michael shouts before he can stop himself. He drops his gaze from Gavin’s wide eyes to his hands. Quietly, he whispers, “I don’t want you to leave yet.” 

 

Gavin freezes at the words. Breathing out he says, “What? I’m never going to be enough for you, Michael.”

 

To this Michael only responds, “You know, none of it mattered, right? It still doesn’t.” 

 

“I know.” Sighing, Gavin just nods. He says again, softer, “I know. And I still was never enough for you. I’m still sorry.” 

 

He gets up to leave again, but Michael catches his hand. He puts the creeper necklace in Gavin’s hands. 

 

_ You kept it. _

 

_ Of course. _

 

“I miss you.” He whispers the words in such a small voice, that only Gavin could hear him.

 

Gavin bites his lips, and stays seated across from him. They’re staring at each other again. Not as close as before, but almost there. Michael continues, reaching up to cup Gavin’s face. He doesn’t flinch.

 

“There was no meaning in the fires we created, the lust, the love, the pain.”

 

“Then what was the point of it all?” Gavin almost laughs. His hands go up to push a stray curl away from Michael’s face.

 

“There is no point,” Michael explains. “I’ve accepted that.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“There is no point, but there is choice.” Michael presses their foreheads together. Gavin allows him. 

 

“What do you choose?” Gavin whispers. They’re breathing the same toxic air again. But something is different. 

 

“I don’t want to burn,” Michael says. “I don’t want to break you anymore, darling.” 

 

When they kiss again, it’s something sweeter than candy. They’re both smiling. He missed this. He truly missed this. He missed the aroma of flowers and vanilla. The green blue eyes and the too large nose. And in Gavin’s embrace he finds himself not so empty anymore. Gavin still tastes like summer dewdrops and sunrises. No ash, no fire, no destruction.

 

Michael thinks he tastes like home. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> _"What have you been doing with Geoff?"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _"Have you heard of Plan G?"_
> 
>  
> 
> This is really, really unbeta'd! Please tell me if you see in errors! If you want to know what happens to the crew and what Geoff actually does, how he knows Michael, shoot an ask to my [tumblr](http://gavsmogar.tumblr.com/). I might be writing a sequel, it depends~ Pre-FAHC or during. Something like that. 
> 
> Still working on Catharsis, I assure you. It's just been taking a really long time.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed!


End file.
